Shattered
by ChuckSaysGrrr
Summary: I don't leave my room much anymore. Seeing Dan laughing and smiling just makes me fall in love with him more despite whats in my head. Sometimes I want to leave but it wouldn't matter, the daemons would follow because I'm still just a worthless homo. So I've decided that suffering with Dan is better than suffering without him. Self-harm, Eating disorders, Schizophrenia.
1. Chapter 1

**Phil**

Sometimes I wonder how Dan doesn't see through the mask. It's not like I have enough energy to devote to upholding it for any longer than the time it takes to film a video, and some times not even then. It's to much effort, sometimes I'm not even sure that its in place. But, as I said before, it's not like Dan notices anyways so I don't see the point of keeping up appearances.

I spend most of my time lately locked in my bedroom crying. Or in the shower letting the water run over me long past the point at which it becomes to cold to bear. When I do come out its nearly to painful to remain there for long. Seeing Dan laughing, smiling, and messing around just makes me fall in love with him more despite everything inside. I want to leave and escape but it wouldn't matter, the daemons would follow, because I'm still just a disgusting worthless homo. So, no matter how much it adds to the pain, I've decided that suffering with Dan is better than suffering without him.

The inside of my head is even worse than Dan's obvious lack of interest. Every single thought I have is attacked by the daemons who have taken up permanent residence there. They remind me how fat and worthless and stupid I am. They tell me that I don't deserve Dan and that the only reason that he's even my _friend_ is because he feels sorry for me. AKA the things that everyone thinks but are to "polite" to say to my face.

Some of them are even worse though. There's the one telling me not to eat, and that I deserve the resulting hunger pains. The one that chatters on about how I don't deserve to live because I ruined the only friendship I have with my disgusting gayness. The one urging me to pick up the blade and hack at my flesh.

The one pressuring me to just kill my self and end it, save everyone the trouble.

At first I had ignored them, pushed them back into the corner of my mind and spent a little extra time with Dan as a pick me up. It worked... for a little while. The daemons were smart though, they shut up for a while, and they listened and watched and learned things.

Just when I was sure that they had given up and left me alone for good, they came back. But this time it was different, this time it was Dan's voice in my head telling me these things.

I didn't last long after that.

With this new development I clung to Dan even more, scared of my own mind. I followed him around constantly making sure that when I heard something in my head that it hadn't actually been him. I spent my nights awake in my bed fighting of the voices until around 4:00 every morning I gave up and climbed into Dan's bed with him, careful not to wake him up, so that I could get at least 1 or 2 hours of sleep before facing the daemons again.

After maybe a week of this however, Dan was completely fed up. He exploded telling me that he was "sick of babysitting my sorry ass" and that I couldn't follow him around like "a motherfucking lost puppy" and to leave him alone before going into his bedroom and slamming the door. A moment later I heard the lock click into place.

Shell-shocked, I walked back into my room, closing the door gently behind me. After a moment I turned back around and clicked my own lock into place before moving to sit on my bed. The daemons swarmed then, and I sat there taking the abuse knowing that I deserved it. It was then that something caught my eye.

I had replaced the blade on my razor that morning and forgotten to put the box of spares away, it was just sitting there visible through the half closed door to my bathroom, hearing the daemons take an interest in it I looked away quickly but it's to late. As if on auto pilot I walk across the room to the bathroom and grab the box of blades from the counter before returning to my position on the bed.

I didn't fight the daemons as they moved my hand to open the box and remove a blade before retreating to egg me on, make me do it myself. Slowly I brought the blade to my forearm pressing slightly, not enough to break skin... yet. Closing my eyes I pulled the sharp piece of metal across my skin in one quick slash. I opened my eyes and watched as blood began to bead along the line before slowly rolling down my arm and dropping onto the carpet. As this happened I could feel some of the voices grow quiet, as if they were falling asleep. I brought the razor to my arm again creating another, slightly deeper line just below the first one. This one bled instantly, two or three more drops rolling down my arm and joining the first on the carpet. More voices quieted and some shut up all together, though I could still feel them and knew they had not left permanently. Eagerly I cut another line, and another, and another, and still another, going until all but one of the voices were silent. The one daemon still awake, still attacking me, was the one telling me to make the next cut vertical but it was quieter, nearly a whisper, so I ignored it choosing instead to go clean the semi-dried blood from my arm.

After wiping my arm clean completely and wrapping a liberal amount of gauze around my still slightly bleeding arm I pulled on a hoodie and lay down on my bed, hoping to get at least three or four hours sleep before the daemons woke up again. I was just drifting of to sleep when I heard a tentative knocking on my bedroom door. The knob rattled and then I heard Dan's voice.

"Phil? Can you please let me in? I'm really sorry." His voice was soft, pleading, and seemed at least partially genuine so I shuffled across the room and unlocked the door before returning to my previous position.

The door creaked open slowly and I heard Dan make his way across the room before sitting softly on the furthest corner of my bed. When he doesn't speak I turn to face him. He's looking at me sadly. _He's probably disgusted with you _One of the daemons mutters sleepily before dropping off again. We stare a moment longer. Suddenly Dan is on top of me, hugging me tightly and muttering "I'm sorry" over and over again. After a shocked moment I return the hug, telling him everything is ok and that I forgive him. Neither of us breaks the hug for a good five minutes and when Dan finally moves away I let him, knowing that I got more than I deserved. He strokes my hair back out of my eyes as I lay back down and begin to drift off. Just before I lose consciousness all together I hear his voice in my head again, and this time he's not berating me. All he says before vanishing completely is three little words, a simple _I love you._

OOO

"Phil can I come in?" Dan's voice breaks my train of thought, bringing me back to the present. He's banging mercilessly on the door and I can tell that he won't go away until he's spoken to me. Sighing I stand up and, after checking that I am indeed wearing a long sleeved shirt, move to open the door. Dan doesn't even wait for me to move out of the way before barging into my room. He looks angry.

"What is going on with you?" He demands, more as a statement than a question.

I shrug slightly, schooling my expression into calm confusion before replying.

"There's nothing going on with me." I say calmly, wincing slightly when the daemons, who are just waking up from the last time I put them to sleep, attack. _Liar_ all scream at me. I ignore them, waiting for a response from Dan.

"Bullshit. I haven't seen you in three days. You stay holed up in your room, coming out for maybe an hour at most before disappearing again. You barely talk to me. I haven't seen you eat in _weeks_. You've been ignoring all my bloody texts, and I don't think you have talked to anyone else in two months. So I ask again. What. Is. Going. On. With. You?"

Dan was screaming now. Throwing the words at me like daggers. The daemons join in, screaming abuse at me and I took a stumbling step back, overwhelmed by it all. I was aching for my razor, the one thing that could help silence most of this noise. I covered my ears trying to silence the world even though I knew that it would be no use.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up. All of you just be quiet! Just leave me _alone_!" I couldn't take it anymore, I didn't care what Dan thought about all of this, I just needed everything to stop for a minute.

Collapsing on the bed curling up tightly with my knees touching my chin. I could feel my self shaking and rocking as I tried not to lose it completely. With the barely there scrap of sanity I still possessed I noted Dan moving to sit beside me on the bed. He placed his hand on my back rubbing softly in circles. Slowly I lifted my head to look at him. His lips were moving but I couldn't hear any of what he was saying over the daemons using his voice to attack me from the inside of my head. There were tears running down my face now and I couldn't barely breathe. Everything was just too much.

Suddenly there was a pair of lips pressed against mine. After a shocked moment I kissed back, matching Dan in intensity. I could feel his tongue running across my lips and I opened my mouth to allow him access. I could feel myself getting lost in what I now figured was just another one of the scenes that the daemons sometimes tortured me with, showing me things that I knew would never happen. The dream Dan shifted his position and let one of his hands dance across my thigh.

I jerked away suddenly, this was worse than anything that had been used to torture me with before. I yelled at the fake Dan the daemons had created to torture me with, screaming and thrashing, pushing him out the door before slamming it shut and sliding down it crying. I pulled my razor from my pocket and began slashing at myself over and over and over and _over_ again, continuing long after the daemons were all asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Dan**

I'm not sure what just happened. One minute I was kissing Phil and it looked as if there was a chance he liked me back, but the next he was screaming and kicking and punching. Most of what he yelled didn't make sense, like it wasn't me he was screaming at.

I can hear him crying through the door now.

Worried for my friend, I go to open the door again. Unlike earlier the door isn't locked, but there's something in front of it keeping it closed. Phil's probably sitting against it.

There's been something wrong with my friend for months. For about a week he was really clingy, following me everywhere, climbing into my bed at night, a few times I found him sitting on the floor outside my bathroom waiting for me to get out of the shower. Then I blew up at him. I said some things that I know were mean but having him with me every moment of the day meant I not only had to eat a normal amount of food, but I couldn't go throw it up afterward either. I couldn't take it.

I had stormed into my room and locked the door. After a few minutes I heard Phil's door shut too. Slowly I creaked my door open again to check that Phil had actually gone into his room. He had. I darted silently down the hall to my bathroom and shut the door.

Once inside I grabbed the spare toothbrush lying on the counter and made my self throw up again and again until all that came out was some stomach acid. Shaking I rinsed the toothbrush off before grabbing my own and proceeding to scrub for fifteen minutes, making sure the smell was completely gone.

I was about to leave when I noticed the obvious fat bulging through my shirt in the mirror. I lifted it up and squeezed the fat that pooled over the waistband of my jeans. There was definitely more than last time but not so much as there had been back in Manchester.

I shook my head quickly, and jerked my shirt back down over my stomach. I had to talk to Phil, to apologize. I made my way across the hall, grabbed the door knob and attempted to turn it. It was locked.

"Phil? Can you please let me in? I'm really sorry."

I heard shuffling on the other side of the door and then the lock clicked. I pushed the door open slowly to see Phil laying down on his bed. I crept over to the edge of his bed and sat gingerly on the corner. After a moment he turned slightly to face me. We locked eyes for a minute. It felt like an hour.

Then I couldn't take it any more, I pulled him into a hug and pressed my face into the crook of his neck. He stayed frozen for a moment before returning the hug with even greater intensity. I shifted my position mumbling the words I'm sorry more than a dozen times. Phil shushed me and returned each of my "i'm sorry's" with an "its ok."

We stayed there like that for at least another five minutes.

When Phil began to slump into the hug I pulled away, stroking his hair as he laid back down and began to drift off. After less than a minute he appeared to be completely out of it.

"I love you." I whispered gently, before laying a kiss on his forehead.

Now with this newest development I'm more worried about him than ever. I wish that I could read his thoughts, figure out what he thought of the blowup, the kiss, me... I would know why he had been clinging to me, why he freaked out when I kissed him, I would know whether or not I was trying hard enough at my weight, and I would know if there was a chance in hell for him to love me.

Slowly I made my way to the kitchen, pouring my self half a glass of milk, grabbing a package of fruit-snacks before sitting at the breakfast bar. I ripped the package open slowly and stuck one of the gelatinous shapes into my mouth, waiting for it to melt before putting another one in my mouth. After eating three I chuck the package into the trash can. I drink a swallow of the milk before sending the rest of it down the drain.

I made my way slowly down the hall back to Phil's room and leaned my head against the door. I could faintly hear Phil crying on the other side but the sobs were really quiet, more like deep gasps. I tried opening the door again but it was the same as before, the doorknob turned but Phil was still sitting there blocking it.

"Phil are you okay in there?"

He didn't answer. I tried opening the door again, this time I managed to get the door open a crack but Phil started flailing, he jumped up and all I saw was a flash of red and white and black before the door slammed shut and the lock clicked. I made my way down the hall to the bathroom unable to bear the weight of the food in my stomach.

All I could think about was last year when I realized I was in love with Phil and when I realized that he could never love me back the way I was. That was when I started policing what I ate, throwing up anything extra, trying to make myself better so that Phil could love me. I don't know why he started clinging to me, but I had hoped it was him falling in love with me. During that time, however, he kept looking at me like I had just stabbed him, or flinched when I started talking. I didn't know what was happening with him but being his crutch was impossible. Maybe that was the reason I blew up, not the food, but the impossibility of being so close to him yet unable to hold him.

I don't even know why I'm still here, still suffering, waiting for someone who will never love me back. Maybe I had some type of delusion that Phil would suddenly realized he loved me all along and we would live happily ever after. Maybe I was already to dependent on him to leave. Maybe I just like the pain. Still, I need to keep trying. If I could just make myself good enough then I might be able to get him to give it a chance.

Once I'm done purging the food that I shouldn't have eaten in the first place and brushing my teeth to get rid of the smell I notice something in the mirror. A few speckles of red just above my right eyebrow. I raise my hand to the offending marks, shocked when it comes back wet.

Blood.

But I'm not hurt anywhere.

Where could it have come from?

It wasn't there before everything that happened in Phil's room.

Phil's room.

That flash of red mixed in with the black and white blur that was Phil.

Oh my god, Phil.

I tore out of the bathroom, and down the hall to Phil's room for the third time that day. I started pounding the door, quicker, more urgently than I had the first time. He didn't answer. I rattled the doorknob and called out his name. Still no answer. I didn't have a choice, I darted to the kitchen and grabbed the spare key that we had just in case Phil or myself locked ourselves out of a room by accident. My hands are shaking but after a minute the door swings open.

I don't see Phil anywhere but I do see the red stains all over the carpet, some of them look months old, and the one by the door is still wet. I cross the room carefully and poke my head into the bathroom, but Phil isn't there. Then I hear him. I make my way across the room slowly, trying to pinpoint the location of the noise. It takes me a minute to figure out that its coming from the closet.

When I open the door I see him sitting in the bottom curled up into a little ball rocking back and forth. He's crying again, hard and panicky, tears soaking his jeans. He isn't wearing a shirt anymore and I can see angry red lines on any piece of skin that is within normal reach, a lot of them still bleeding slightly.

I grab a random shirt from the floor and cautiously press it to his side. His head jerks up and he stares at me, his eyes burning into mine, but he doesn't pull away. I continue to clean his wounds, carefully pressing the t-shirt to his body.

"Why are you doing this to me?" My head jerks up to meet Phil's gaze again. He's still crying just as hard as before.

"Why am I doing what to you?" I keep my voice level despite my confusion.

"Pretending to be him. Making me think that he cares. I know you're not him. Why do you want to hurt me so badly?"

"Who's him, Phil?"

His face contorts in pain and he starts crying even harder. "Stop. Stop torturing me, I know you're not Dan. I know it. You're just in my head. I don't wanna do this anymore. Just leave me alone."

"I am Dan."

But he's not listening. He's resumed his rocking, muttering no over and over. I'm look around for something that might help clam him down. There's nothing, nothing but the razor and I'm not letting that happen again.

Wait...

The razor.

At some point during the time I'd been cleaning his wounds he had dropped the razor onto the floor beside him. Shakily I picked up the small piece of metal, then I took his chin with my other hand and made him look into my eyes.

"Would a projection do this?"

The slowly, calmly, I drag the blade over my wrist.


End file.
